


Stuck.

by sailor_bonnibel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: "Platonic" Bed Sharing, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, M/M, Memory Loss, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, lots of wandless magic because i hate googling spells, no plot just vibes, the problem is that both draco and harry think they're the main character in a jane austen novel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27907378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailor_bonnibel/pseuds/sailor_bonnibel
Summary: This was the first time Harry had seen Draco since the trials over a year and a half ago. The second time, if he counted that day he thought he saw Draco crossing the street in Chelsea. The third time, if Harry counted that day last week in the muggle café.Or, Harry’s morning routine is changed forever.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first attempt at writing Drarry! Comment and let me know what you think.

Harry woke up the way he always did—in a cold sweat, scar throbbing, and alone in the unfaltering gloom of his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. The faint glow around the curtains which adorned the large windows on opposite sides of his ancient four-poster let Harry know that it was already morning. He whispered an _Aguamenti_ to fill the glass that stood empty on his bedside table. It was the last step of his early morning routine.

Break free from the night terrors. Check. Wake up in a pool of sweat. Check. Gulp down a glass of water. Check.

Harry exhaled slowly in an effort to still the thrumming in his chest, then froze as he heard a stirring in the blankets next to him.

“ _Fuck_ , _fuck_ , _fuck_ , _fuck_ ,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut and praying that he hadn’t picked up another muggle from the bar he frequented too often for Hermione’s liking. Harry was trying to cut down on the drinking, he really was, but yesterday was October 31st and all his friends were busy moving on with their lives, and Harry couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself.

“I’m sorry, but you have to leave now,” he started, refusing to look at the person who had gone still beside him. It was all rather embarrassing really, his predilection for bringing random muggle blokes into his home and then kicking them out at daybreak.

The person beside him breathed in sharply, “ _Merlin’s beard_ Potter, where the hell am I?”

For the first time in his life, Harry wished he was still dreaming. He would have recognized that clipped drawl anywhere.

Draco Malfoy was pushed up on his elbows, a furious scowl etched onto his sharp face, his barely-there-white-blond eyebrows almost touching. Harry leaped out of bed and slipped on his glasses.

“I didn’t—Did we—

The Malfoy heir cut him off, snarling, “You’ll be relieved to know that we _didn’t_ shag, Potter. I distinctly remember going to sleep in my own flat last night, so will you please be kind enough to tell me how I ended up _here_ with _you_!”

This was the first time Harry had seen Draco since the trials over a year and a half ago. It was the second time if he counted that day he thought he saw Draco crossing the street in Chelsea a couple of months ago. The third time, if Harry counted that day last week in the muggle café.

“ _Muggles_ ,” he said to Ron and Hermione later that day, more than a little bitter and more than a little tipsy, “ _I saw Malfoy eating with muggles and looking properly chuffed about it_!”

“ _Well I think it’s brilliant that he’s expanding his worldview_ ,” Hermione replied, always the optimist.

Ron rolled his eyes, longing for the day Harry would stop obsessing over Draco Malfoy, “‘ _ts not like there’s any more Death Eaters he can hang around_.”

So technically speaking, this was the third time he’d seen Draco in recent years. But who was counting?

“ _Potter_!” Draco snapped Harry out of his daydream.

“Er,” Harry supplied.

Draco stood and lunged, face reddening; Harry bolted out of his bedroom and down the stairs, flinging a _stupefy_ behind him.

At the bottom of the stairs, Draco’s disarming charm caught Harry square in the shoulders and his wand flung away from him.

“ _Locomotor Mortis_.” Harry was suddenly grateful for the wandless casting he had picked up over the years.

Draco narrowly blocked the spell, stumbling slightly, and moved to cast again. His eyes were locked on the front door–an escape route.

In the next room, the Floo flared to life. The boys froze in the middle of the charms they were about to hurl.

“Draco?” They heard Hermione’s shrill voice call through the flames. “You said you’d be over this morning with that potion for Rose. Did you forget?”

Harry blinked at Draco. Draco blinked back at Harry.

“ _What_?” Draco’s voice went up an octave. Since when did Granger start calling him Draco? Since when did Granger _call_ him?

“ _What_?” Harry was confused why his best friend was calling on a person who he hadn’t talked to in ages.

Hermione huffed, “I don’t have time for whatever drama the two of you have cooked up today. I’ll just come through and get it myself.”

With Harry distracted, Draco took the opportunity to flee from the Black family ancestral home. The front door slammed closed as Hermione practically ran from the sitting room and into the kitchen.

“Gods, Harry,” she barely paused to look at him, “You look eighteen again. What potion has Draco convinced you to try this time?”

Her mouth was moving a thousand meters a minute as she rummaged through a cabinet next to the icebox. “I can’t believe he forgot! He knows I have a hearing with the Wizengamot this morning about the werewolf bill amendment. Not to mention, Ron has been at a stakeout all week, and I can’t drop Rose off to Molly with an insane fever because I’ll never hear the end of it! I would’ve had you watch her, Harry, but it’s Tuesday, and I know you always help around the shop today,” she took a deep breath, then exhaled, “If I wasn’t already late, I would go down to the basement myself and wring that ferret’s neck!”

Harry stood in the kitchen’s doorframe with his mouth agape, transfixed by the woman who stood before him rambling. He wasn’t even sure he understood half the words that came out of her mouth, but it was Hermione, no doubt, with her familiar large teeth, larger curly hair, and brown skin. But she was different—more womanly, more mature—softer around the edges where she used to be a teenager sharpened by war and loss. Harry really wasn’t sure what constituted his best friend as “womanly,” but he was certain it had something to do with her hips.

“Cheer up Harry.” Finally finding the potion she was looking for, Hermione stood up from her crouch. “I’m sure he’ll fix you back later today!” She ruffled the hair on his head, and in a flash of green flames, returned to wherever she had come from.

Harry desperately needed to find Draco. But instead, he stood dumbly in the entryway of Grimmauld Place, realizing that this was not the townhouse he was used to. The ancient, grimy furniture had been replaced, there was a suspicious lack of cobwebs in the ceiling corners, and the air smelled faintly of Sleekezy’s hair potion instead of mold. Grimmauld Place looked like a well-loved home instead of a teenager’s ill-managed keep. Harry drifted aimlessly throughout the house, touching the items he had no recollection of purchasing and wondering at photos he had no memories of taking.

There was one photo in the sitting room that made Harry stop entirely. Two familiar faces grinned up at him, their bodies shivering under heavy winter coats. With clammy hands, Harry picked up the frame to read the words scrawled on the back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, who could possibly be in that picture? 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, Chapter 2 will be up next week!


	2. Chapter 2

Draco, in his panicked escape from Grimmauld Place, had forgotten to put on shoes. It seemed like a very rational choice in the heat of the moment—look for shoes or be hexed to death by Harry Potter? He had already come close to the second option once, so he figured his chances of survival were higher if he left sans shoes. He wasn’t even sure where his shoes would have been anyway. So, he ran barefoot and pajama-clad to the closest Apparition point and pretended that the crowds of muggles he was shoving through weren’t judging his attire.

As Draco rounded the corner to reach the building his flat was in, his stomach dropped.

“It’s…gone?” he said to no one but himself. The building wasn’t _gone,_ per se, but there was no logical explanation how a dumpy muggle building could have been renovated overnight into an upscale residence.

There was even a doorman outside. A _doorman_ , for the love of Merlin. He could have afforded to live somewhere that posh before the war. Now, he felt too broke to dare enter.

Draco Malfoy prided himself in always having a backup plan. After the war, he had a plan to support his mother when Lucius was sent to Azkaban. He had a plan after the DMLE’s Reparations Division took half the Malfoy fortune. He had a plan after he couldn’t find any jobs in Wizarding London. But now, as he stood outside of what should have been his apartment building on a cool November morning, he couldn’t think of anything.

Draco blamed this situation on The Potter Curse. It was his own unfunny inside joke, whenever Draco encountered Harry, something in his life fucked up.

The first time Draco saw Harry after the trials, he was _en route_ to his muggle job in Chelsea. Harry, in his usual disheveled fashion, crossed the street in front of him. Draco did a double-take, because why the hell was Potter in Chelsea? This led him to trip on the uneven pavers and spill coffee down his new shirt. The second time Draco saw Harry was when he was at a café with his muggle friends from work. Harry was standing in line to order, which surprised Draco enough to spill yet another beverage down his shirt. This morning was his third encounter with Harry—but who was counting?—and instead of sacrificing another shirt, he felt like he was offering up his sanity to the gods.

The telltale _crack_ of an Apparition broke Draco out of his reverie, and Harry came sprinting from a dim alleyway.

Draco bristled, already defensive. He had been too preoccupied with escaping to figure out why he had even woken up at Potter’s in the first place.

“No! Please don’t run again. I need to, er–it’s important.” Harry stopped a safe distance away, extending a pair of trainers and a coat between them as a peace offering.

Draco begrudgingly toed on the shoes and slipped the coat on over his posh set of striped silk pajamas. He muttered a thank you, noticing that Harry hadn’t bothered to change either.

“This is going to sound strange,” Harry started.

Draco scoffed, “When have things ever been normal with you?”

“I haven’t quite put all the pieces together, but I was hoping that you would come back home with me and figure it out.”

“And why would I do that?” he sneered.

“Well, when ‘Mione came through she said a lot of things that...didn’t make sense. So, I had a look ‘round the house and I, er, found this.”

Draco watched as Harry pulled a framed photo from his extension charmed coat pocket and placed it in his hands.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He and Harry waved from inside the photograph, shivering in the cold. It seemed to be Christmastime. There was a large, sparkling tree behind them, and piles of slushy snow at their feet. Harry had his arm wrapped around Draco, his green eyes crinkling in delight behind his thick lenses. Draco was leaned in towards Harry, his tell-tale white-blond hair was long and tied up in a bun. They looked older, but they couldn’t have been any more than thirty.

Draco’s normally cool gaze, now wild, snapped up from the photo to meet Harry’s eyes. Harry’s brown cheeks reddened as he held the other man’s gaze. “Read the back.”

_Rockefeller Center, New York._

_Christmas, 2008._

Realization dawned on Draco. His mouth went dry.

“Will you come home with me now?” Harry tried in a softer tone than before.

Draco nodded wordlessly _._ He almost always had a retort ready for Potter, but now his brain was struggling to string a coherent sentence together. _Home_. He had become unfamiliar with that word in recent years.

Harry started to walk back towards the alley he had originally come from.

Not wanting to give away how vulnerable he felt, Draco found it within himself to pick at Harry’s ego once again. “So, The-Boy-Who-Lived is too good for ministry regulated Apparition points?”

Something fiendish flickered behind Harry’s eyes. “Being the savior of British wizardkind has its perks.”

“I’m sure it does,” Draco drawled.

Amused, Harry looped his arm through Draco’s, and before the blond could protest, Apparated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this (short) chapter! See you next week!


	3. Chapter 3

“I like what you’ve done with the place.”

When they first arrived, Draco peeked around Grimmauld Place with newfound interest. He’d only been a couple times in his youth, but he remembered its previous state of grime and draftiness like it was yesterday. Most of all, he was happy that his Great Aunt Walburga had finally been removed from her place in the front entryway. He remembered her bellowing and shuddered.

“It’s most likely that you’ve done it,” Harry mumbled, slightly embarrassed that he had to give Draco the credit, “My friends’ll tell you that I can’t decorate for shit.”

“Or dress for that matter,” Draco scoffed into his coffee. He was referring to the atrocious combination of Harry’s plaid pajama pants and bright orange Chudley Cannons jumper. Harry appreciated that Draco was at least attempting to be nice.

Two cups of coffee had been set out for them by the time they had returned. They willfully ignored the origin of the hot beverages, insisting that it was the least odd thing that had occurred this morning. The mug Harry held was hot pink and was brimming with cream and sugar. Draco’s was in the shape of a blue police box and contained only black coffee. He sat opposite to Harry at the kitchen table, his fingers delicately curled around the ridiculously shaped mug. Harry’s spoon clinked idly, stirring on its own, as he appreciated the shiny muggle appliances that littered the marble countertops.

“So…” Draco started.

Harry sighed and recounted his run-in with Hermione. With the help of the pictures hung around the house, and his friend’s mind-numbing, one-sided conversation, he had been able to piece together that Hermione was finally a member of the Wizangamot, Ron was an Auror, they had a kid, and that he Draco were practically married. He made sure to leave the last bit out though.

Draco sipped thoughtfully. “I’m going to take some liberties and assume several things: my future self is some sort of potioneer, we’ve, somehow, been de-aged and lost about ten years’ worth of memories, and we,” he made a vague gesture, “ _live together_.”

It was hard for Draco to say those words aloud.

“I think ‘live together’ is an understatement, Malfoy,” his words were icier than intended.

Draco cringed.

Harry accepted the de-aging and memory loss part quite easily—this sort of thing happened to him all the time and was (probably) reversible. What he couldn’t wrap his head around was how his future self had come to be in a relationship with the person he’d love-hated since he was eleven. Even though Harry had always been infatuated with Malfoy, it didn’t take away from the fact that he’d done terrible things during the War and at Hogwarts. Harry considered this revelation to be quite nuanced for a twenty-year-old recluse. Besides, even if Draco wasn’t a plotting bastard and ex-Death Eater, his one-sided crush wouldn’t have mattered. He knew that Draco was only tolerating him.

“…I’ll need to find my laboratory notes to find out exactly what I did though.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Harry pretended that he had been listening, “‘Mione mentioned something about the basement, so let’s start there.”

* * *

Compared to the rest of the house, the basement was unrenovated. It harked back to the old Grimmauld Place—dark and cobweb-y—and seemed to be unwired to electricity. Secretly, Draco was glad that most of the house had modern electric appliances. He had gotten used to them the past year while working and living with muggles, and he was proud to say that he could work a thermostat _and_ a microwave.

The room was long and narrow, with two workbenches that ran parallel down the length. Several bubbling cauldrons were attending to themselves. A massive apothecary display cabinet loomed in the back corner, a similarly large bookshelf in the other. Near the door, was a meticulously organized desk.

“ _Merlin_ , it’s like Snape’s wet dream,” Harry groaned.

Draco didn’t want to agree with him, but the influence was unmistakable.

“I’ll have you know that _many_ potioneers work in environments such as this,” he sniffed, walking off towards the desk.

Harry made his way around the laboratory, peering into the self-stirring cauldrons and the registers detailing the contents of each. As much as Harry didn’t want to admit it, he was impressed with Draco’s system.

A small cheer went up in Draco’s corner of the room.

“Found it!” He flipped back and forth between a couple of pages in the notebook he held, then said, “I was trying to make a potion that had _slight_ de-aging effects, like those muggle wrinkle creams.”

Harry shuddered, remembering how hideous his Aunt Petunia looked with her nightly regimen of fancy under-eye creams and face masks.

“I’ll spare you the boring details Potter, I know you weren’t any good in Potions.”

Harry rolled his eyes. Draco never missed an opportunity, did he?

“I’m sure my pea-sized brain can handle it.”

The blond grinned in response. “It’s quite simple actually. I got a bit ahead of myself and added too much phoenix ash, it has extreme anti-aging properties. I also didn’t consider that it would _literally_ de-age the taker.”

Draco _accioed_ a quill and started scribbling furiously into the notebook’s margins.

“But that doesn’t explain how it made us both like this!” Harry argued.

“I also have an explanation for that. My note-taking abilities are tops, Potter, if you’re unaware,” Draco cleared his throat dramatically and began to read verbatim, “ _October 31st, 2009._ _Note: Sodding Potter accidentally knocked over the entirety of the cauldron onto the both of us. The potion is not skin soluble, but for extra precaution, we rinsed off. Make note of any abnormalities in the morning_.”

Harry rolled his eyes again, “Abnormalities noted.”

“Quite.” Draco frowned and scratched another thought into his notebook.

Harry quietly watched as Draco’s fringe fell into his eyes. His usual conservative Hogwarts haircut had been traded for something more fashionable—although, Harry noted, Draco had never appeared unfashionable to him—his hair didn’t reach his shoulders, but it was long enough to be tucked behind his ear. Harry followed the delicate curve of Draco’s neck until he reached his collarbones, which unfairly disappeared under the collar of the pajamas he was still wearing. He squeezed his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching across the workbench.

Harry felt his hatred towards Draco slowly dissolving. Yes, Malfoy had committed atrocities, but if they were together in the future, wouldn’t it all be forgiven by now? There was nothing holding him back from—

Harry stopped his train of thought before he started to spiral.

“So…how long do you think brewing the antidote will take?”

Draco bristled at his statement, reddening slightly, “It’s only been a few hours, Potter. I know we’re childhood enemies, but I didn’t know you wanted me gone _that_ badly.”

“Well, I—” Harry flustered. His plan to make small talk had backfired.

Draco placed his quill down and walked across the room to his apothecary cabinets in search of ingredients. With a couple of flicks of his wand, several drawers opened and closed. Harry watched as Draco compared his notes to the small fortune of ingredients he had stored away.

“About a month.”

“A _month_!” Harry had always done a poor job of hiding his surprise. How was he supposed to go a month without mortally embarrassing himself? He figured that his older self had already had this conversation with Draco, but, currently, Harry had too much pride and was far too stubborn to let Draco figure out about his stupid schoolboy crush.

“Are you a fucking parrot? Yes, a month.” Draco scowled, and began listing his grievances on his fingers, “There’s a lot of ingredients missing, it needs to brew under a full moon, and I have ten years of learning to catch up on!”

There was something about Malfoy’s sour expression that Harry couldn’t place. But instead of investigating, he stuck an annoyed look on his face and plodded back upstairs.

“This is impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“I don’t care that you hate me, Potter,” Draco called behind him, “but you’re stuck with me in the meantime!”

Draco had, unknowingly, been obsessed with Harry since they met. He didn’t catch on to the magnitude of it until sixth-year, but by then he was too far gone.

It started like this, Draco couldn’t stop talking about their original run-in at Madame Malkin’s for a week (he had exclusive bragging rights as he was the first of his friends to meet _the_ Harry Potter). His eleven-year-old self had the perfect plan, he would seek out Potter on the train to Hogwarts, re-introduce himself, befriend The-Boy-Who-Lived, and please his father. But of course, it didn’t work out that way.

There was a time when all Draco ever wanted was to please his father. He wished he could go back in time and tell his younger self that his desperation for that wry, thin smile of approval from Lucius would only result in a Dark Mark on his left forearm and a childhood brimming with foolish memories.

Draco stared into the hearth which crackled softly beside his desk. He had never been a big believer in fate, but maybe this was meant to be. Maybe it was _always_ meant to be. Despite his background and their history, Harry Potter still wanted him. Draco’s gaze flickered to a movement on his desk. It was another photograph of him and Harry, this time he was squeezing Harry from behind. They stood outside of a house that looked like it had been ramshackled together.

He looked happy. Harry looked happy.

Draco felt his face warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone and happy holidays! Here's a longer chapter, I hope you enjoyed it!


	4. Chapter 4

Several hours later, after they had done some exploring around Harry’s bedroom— _their bedroom_ , Draco reminded himself—and found actual clothes to wear, the _crack_ of an Apparition sounded throughout the house.

“Bloody hell Potter!” Draco called loud enough so that Harry could hear him upstairs. “Why do your friends think they can keep showing up to our house uninvited!”

Draco was downstairs doing potions research in the library. The sooner he found the antidote, the sooner he could get back to his insanely perfect future.

“ _Our_ house?” came Potter’s teasing reply.

Draco jumped, then reddened at the sudden response. He assumed that Harry was still upstairs, brooding over photo albums and digging through the drawers in his study. Earlier, Draco made an Unbreakable Vow with himself to not show any signs of weakness around Harry. But it seemed that even magic couldn’t prevent him from making a fool of himself.

The corner of Harry’s lips turned up as if he could sense Draco’s discomfort. He leaned smugly on the library doorframe wearing an Amy Winehouse shirt— _whoever that was—_ and a pair of well-worn jeans. Draco’s breath caught as Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest and the warm, brown skin of his biceps flexed. Harry’s arms weren’t large by any means, but for Draco, they were _Potter’s arms_ and that was more than enough for him. He kind of hated how attractive Harry was, with his sharp green eyes, enlarged by his thick lenses, and dark, wild curls that framed his marble cut jawline. What infuriated Draco the most was how blind Harry was to his own magnetism.

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not going to stand around all day while you two undress each other with your eyes,” came a prim voice.

Draco blanched. Harry jumped. Pansy Parkinson stood behind Harry with her hands on her hips and her foot tapping the floor impatiently.

“ _Pans_?”

Draco hadn’t seen her since the Battle of Hogwarts. Sure, they owled every now and then, but most of his Slytherin friends had been scattered to the winds. He was glad to know that his older self had Parkinson in his life again.

Standing on her toes, Pansy reached up to quickly kiss Harry on both of his cheeks. He was startled at the output of friendliness he received. She then made her way across the room and did the same to Draco, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with neat piles of manuscripts surrounding him.

“Hello boys, I know it’s uncouth to show up unexpectedly,” she gave Draco a scathing glance, “but, I knew something was wrong.

Harry and Draco shared a look. They had planned to not tell anyone about their current situation, but that proved to be unrealistic because, as it turned out, none of their friends had changed. Boarding school had really done a number on their concept of privacy.

“Oh please, don’t do that.” She waved an unbothered hand at their concerned faces. “I’m not sure what’s happened this time around, but the last time Draco didn’t open up the shop on a weekday was when Harry accidentally drank an ultra-concentrated dose of Dreamless Sleep.” She sighed and shook her head as if Harry’s blundering was a normal occurrence, “If you’re going to pretend that everything is normal, at least stick to your routines!”

Draco silently agreed with her argument. They would have tried to stick to their routines if they had _remembered_ them.

“Why is it always my fault?” Harry sat timidly beside Pansy on one of the plush settees in the room. Even though it appeared they were friends now, he was still kind of afraid of her.

Pansy–who sat like the Queen awaiting reception–had her cloak delicately fanned around herself. She placed her expensive-looking handbag by her feet—which were clad in equally expensive dragonhide heeled boots—and pushed the sunglasses she was wearing into her perfectly bobbed jet-black hair.

Pansy patted Harry on the knee. “Don’t worry Harry, Draco has had more than enough slip-ups too.”

“I— _how_?” Draco searched for words as he looked at the pair on the couch. Seeing the adult version of Pansy made the whole debacle real. He supposed this was how Harry felt this morning when Hermione had come through the Floo–like someone had pulled the rug from under him.

“Well, good afternoon to you too, Malfoy. Since you both look fresh out of Hogwarts, I’ll say that you’ve been de-aged. And since you look like you’ve seen a ghost, I’d also say that you’ve lost a chunk of your memory too.”

Harry hummed, “I see why the lot of you are friends.”

“In case you really have lost your memories, I always stop by your potions shop for afternoon tea and when I saw it was closed, I Apparated straight here.”

“It seems that we have a shop, Draco.”

Harry watched as the blond moved closer to where he and Pansy sat.

“So, it’s first names now, Potter?” he smirked.

Harry pushed an agitated hand through his hair. “I’d like to be friends while we get this sorted out, but if you’re opposed, that’s fine too.”

Pansy snickered, “It’s just like old times!”

“Oh, shut up Parkinson.” Draco’s snap had no bite to it.

Harry stood abruptly, deciding that he’d rather not be in the middle of their reunion. “I’m going to fuck off somewhere while you two catch up.”

Draco waited until Harry’s footsteps had retreated to speak. He would rather die than let Potter hear the words, “Is this _real_ Pans?”

“I’m afraid so,” she stared after Harry thoughtfully, “He really was a cute kid.”

Her fond expression twisted Draco’s stomach into knots. Pansy, seeing the way her friend’s eyebrows were knitted, cast a _muffliato,_ and beckoned him closer.

“I fear my predictions were on the mark. How old are you really?”

“You were right. I’m twenty and I don’t remember anything past yesterday which was October 31st but in the year 2000.”

She hummed thoughtfully, eyeing him, “And Harry is the same?”

“I suppose so.” Draco looked down at his sock-clad feet.

“Enough of that,” her small lips suddenly formed a wicked grin, “I have the privilege to rub it in your face– _again_ –that you’re in a relationship with the guy you’ve been pining after your whole childhood!”

“Have not!”

“Have too!”

Draco sighed—he knew his best friend was right–and crawled next to her on the sofa, giving in to his craving for gossip, “Just tell me how we met.”

Pansy began to laugh loudly. “You’re going to _kill_ me, Draco.”

“I swear to Salazar that I won’t ask any more questions after.”

“Doubt it.”

“ _Pans._ ”

“Fine. Fine,” she chuckled, “You picked him up at a bar.”

Draco reddened, mortified, “ _What_!”

“You were what, twenty-one? It happened at this little muggle pub near here, and you’d just gotten your potioneer license. You were going to celebrate alone—in classic broody Malfoy fashion—and when you were leaving, you ran into Harry, who was shitfaced outside on the curb.”

Draco placed his head in his hands. He hoped this story would end in something other than a drunken hookup.

“This is the best part–you saw each other and started talking. Then you realized how drunk Harry was and didn’t want him to splinch himself, so you side-alonged him back to yours.”

“ _And then what happened_?” his voice jumped two octaves.

Pansy shrugged, “Dunno. You refused to tell me what happened after that, you know you hate talking about your feelings. All I know is that it’s been Draco-and-Harry ever since.”

“Wow.” Before his enrollment at Hogwarts, Draco had a governess that implored the importance of a fully fleshed vocabulary. Now, the only word he could think of was a three-letter interjection.

“Wow is right,” Pansy replied, then cast a _tempus_ charm _._ “Well, I would love to stay and chat, but _real_ adults have to get back to work. In the meantime, have fun seducing Harry again!”

Draco’s cheeks pinked, sputtering, “I’m not going to _embarrass_ myself and throw myself at a man who can barely stand to be in my presence.”

She shrugged and reached down to pick up her handbag, “It worked the last time! Potter is relatively simple you know.”

“I don’t think he knows he likes blokes yet!” Draco looked around conspiratorially even though he knew Harry couldn’t hear them.

Parkinson’s bright red lips parted in a grin. “Couldn’t hurt to jump-start his gay awakening.”

“We’re going to be _friendly_ , Pans, and that’s it,” he said through his teeth.

“Whatever you say, darling. Send an owl if you need anything!” and with a _crack,_ she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I didn't post last week, so I'll probably do a double update this weekend. Also, this fic is definitely going to be longer than 12 chapters, oh no!


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